All the Letters
All the letters are now lost,
Fallen down the slope of time,
And their record has been tossed
Without reason, sense or rhyme.
From the summit of the mountain
To the bottom of the sea
There is not a single fountain
Which might quench their thirst to be.
All is thought to have been written,
Some remembered and much lost
To forgiveness, deeply bitten
By time’s serpent, hate or frost.
What is destined for surviving
In the annals of our age
May not have the gift of thriving
On the lips of bard and sage.
To the darkness of our morrow
Times of glory must be fated,
Like most memories of sorrow
Whether bright and new or dated.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
